


Wager of Battle

by Destina



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:45:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a knight-in-training mistakes Merlin for a common servant, Arthur is Most Displeased. Trial by combat ensues...but Arthur isn't the one who takes up the sword.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wager of Battle

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ставка на Мерлина](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1485535) by [krasnoe_solnishko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krasnoe_solnishko/pseuds/krasnoe_solnishko)



> Canon-era fic, wherein I cheerfully romp through numerous favorite tropes. Takes place during series 4, at some point after 4.09. Huge thanks once again to Cori Lannam and Nu Breed for beta and cheerleading.

From Merlin's perspective, it had been bad enough before the coronation, when Arthur was merely the Crown Prince and the best swordsman in all of Camelot. The badge of honor which went with standing up to Arthur's tests for knighthood had been an attractive prize for would-be warriors all over Albion.

Now that Arthur was King, it was ten times worse. A steady stream of nobles, some old enough to have grey grizzle patched about their chin, some so young they had pimples, trickled into Camelot daily. It seemed word of Arthur's exploits with his hand-picked knights had traveled fast, and everyone wanted the chance to impress the new king. It was all about power, of course; Merlin knew that the sort of man who most wanted to join Arthur's trusted inner circle was exactly the sort who would never get in. 

They spent their time in the taverns, for the most part. They were officious, and unpleasant, and rude to the servants.

Merlin was not impressed. 

"They're a bunch of prats," he muttered, as he wiped down Arthur's second-best sword in front of the fire. "Worse than you ever were."

Arthur sighed and put down the book he was reading. "And what would you know about it, Merlin? These are men from the best families in the five kingdoms, ready to sacrifice their lives for Camelot. Some of them are even passably skilled with their weapons." 

"You've been out there every day, beating them into the ground. Haven't found even one yet that's worth training, have you?" Merlin raised his eyebrows in challenge.

Arthur pursed his lips in that way he had of not answering direct questions, and pointed to the sword. "Polish more; speak less." 

Merlin kept his silence for as long as it took to flip the sword and attack the other edge of the blade, and then said, "I don't know why they keep trying. It's not like any of them can beat you." 

"Merlin." Arthur closed his book with a bang. "Enough. You can go. Make sure you wake me early for training in the morning. And bring my chain mail -- perfectly polished, mind you -- and my second-best sword to the training grounds for the first drill."

"Yes, because I live to polish your chain mail in the wee hours of the morning," Merlin muttered, hoisting Arthur's sword up into the light and examining it with a critical eye. It was perfection. Even Arthur couldn't complain about it. 

"What was that?" Arthur said loudly.

"Nothing!" Merlin answered, cheerful obedience oozing out of every pore. He settled the sword into its sheath with care, and placed the entire kit on the table. "Good night, sire."

"Be on time in the morning, Merlin. No one likes a layabout." 

Merlin gave Arthur his best dark look, but of course Arthur was ignoring him, being kingly as kings are wont to do and officiously opening his book again. Merlin happened to know that his book was no treatise on the art of war, but rather some fluffy bit of mythology involving dragons and princesses, and it was all Merlin could do not to call him out on it. But there were worse fates than polishing mail all night long, and Merlin had no desire to be stuck with any of them, even temporarily. 

He did slam the door behind him, though. It was a small compromise.

It was already late, well into the changing of the night guard, and Merlin would have a time of it, trying to get his work done without magic. It was too risky to use it in the armory, and he wasn't inclined to drag the mail back to Gaius's chambers. Strategy was on his mind when he cut into a little-used corridor and darted down it, brushing against a passing figure. 

"Sorry," he called over his shoulder, hurrying on. 

A moment later he was jerked back, and then found himself hurtling toward the ground. His head struck the stone so hard he saw stars, and he gasped with the pain of it, struggling back toward the gloved hands holding him down. 

"Insolence, boy," said an amused voice at his back. There was low laughter, as well, off to the side; more than one man, then. Merlin fought to keep his magic in check, even as it raged within him, demanding that he protect himself. "You should be more properly respectful of your betters." 

"Sorry," Merlin said, twisting his head as far as he dared to see who had him pinned. He caught a glimpse of livery -- one of the would-be knights, then -- and a pale face framed by dark curly hair. The man's lips thinned with disapproval; Merlin took in that last detail before his head struck the ground again, and this time, white lights danced in his field of vision. 

"Next time, mind your place and your manners," the man said, wrenching Merlin's arm up behind his back tightly enough to make Merlin cry out. Then he released Merlin, moving away into the night. 

Merlin sighed out a breath of relief, but the moment he moved to brace himself against the floor and rise, agony ripped through his body. He had only a moment to consider how annoyed Arthur would be if his mail wasn't perfection itself, before darkness took him. 

**

"Merlin?" 

With a start, Merlin lifted his head, and immediately wished he had not. His temples throbbed with the kind of headache he'd rarely had, usually only after too much ale, and his body ached everywhere. 

A hand closed on his arm. "Merlin, what's happened?"

Merlin squinted toward the sound of that voice. As the concerned face of Sir Percival's squire Calvin came into focus, two things occurred to Merlin: the sun was nearly up, and Arthur was either late to training because Merlin hadn't roused him from bed -- or worse, he was waiting on the training field, or would be very soon. "I'm late," he gasped, crying out as he moved to sit. 

"You're in no condition--" Calvin began, but Merlin shook his head, trying his best to ignore the wave of dizziness that motion brought. 

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Help me up." Calvin put his shoulder to it, and between the two of them, they managed to get Merlin up from the ground, but it was a near thing; Merlin's legs buckled as soon as his head approached the vertical. 

"What happened to you? Should I get Gaius?" Calvin didn't move away, which was a very good thing, considering how the ground kept trying to tilt up to pull Merlin back down. 

"One of Arthur's new knights-in-training," Merlin said through gritted teeth. 

"That figures. You're going to tell the king, then?" Calvin said in an entirely too hopeful tone, as he gave Merlin a gentle shove upright. Merlin managed not to fall over, and looked at Calvin properly then.

"Not likely," Merlin said, swiveling toward the armory. "Help me with the armor? I have to get moving."

Calvin sighed, all hopes of ridding himself of yet another vicious noble dashed, and followed him into the armory, where Merlin discovered his left arm was all but useless. Right, then; Calvin would have to help with that, too. He pointed at the mail. 

"Drape that over my arm," he said, and searched about frantically for the sword, finally locating it at the sharpening stool. Calvin retrieved the armor and positioned his arm, laying the heavy weight over it. 

Merlin definitely didn't whimper. More like a manly yelp. But once it was there, the weight of it wasn't so bad. He could certainly carry it off to Arthur.

"Wait," Calvin said. He took the corner of his tunic and lifted it, wiping off Merlin's face. The garment came away soiled with blood and dirt.

"Bad?" Merlin asked, already knowing.

"Yes. His Majesty can't help but notice. He's going to say something," Calvin said, warning in his tone.

"Right, what else is new," Merlin said. He smiled at Calvin, grateful it was the squire that found him out cold, and not one of the knights. He would never have lived it down. "Thanks, Calvin."

"I think you should see Gaius right after," Calvin said, ignoring Merlin's most convincing smile. It must be bad, then. Merlin ran through all the spells he knew to cover his appearance, but nothing came to mind. It was all a muddle in there, probably as a result of having his brain jogged about in his skull. 

"Won't need it," he said, smiling harder. This time, it seemed to take, and with another heavy sigh, Calvin moved aside, still eyeing him with concern. 

The sun had broken the horizon by the time Merlin arrived at the training grounds. He passed near-invisible by the assembled contestants, and made his way to Arthur's tent, single-minded in purpose. If he could just lay down the mail, he could --

"Merlin, good heavens!" 

Merlin stopped dead, wincing. Leon came up beside him, concern written all over his face. "What in the world has happened to you?"

It was not like Leon really knew how to be quiet. Three heads swiveled his direction, and the knights Arthur loved best converged on him as one. 

Merlin trotted out the smile again and said patiently, "Took a tumble outside the armory. No harm done."

"No harm?" Elyan reached up to touch his head, and Merlin jerked away, frantic not to have anyone poke at it. His head felt rather like a cracked egg; one wrong move, and the whole of it might break open. Elyan raised an eyebrow. 

"What madness is this?" Gwaine was beside him, glowering in a way that meant horrible things for whoever was responsible. It was overwhelming. In fact, it was --

"Been at the ale again, Merlin? Been bounced on your head by the tavern keep? I've told you before, the more time you waste there, the more addled your brain becomes. Though it might be an improvement, mind you." 

Finally, the familiar drawl of his king. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. Now it would end, and quickly. Arthur would insult him, and cuff him about for his lateness, and assign some dreadful additional chores. Then he could dress Arthur, and he could go on to Gaius and have his throbbing, gigantic head seen to. 

Arthur loomed in Merlin's field of vision, but the smug look on his face disappeared as soon as he had a good look at Merlin. Merlin shied away, alarmed by the concern on Arthur's face, but he ran into Percival's solid chest, and could not turn away. "Merlin," Arthur said, "who has done this to you?"

Merlin was contemplating whether the truth or a simple lie would be better, when Gwaine tugged at the chain mail over his arm, intending to remove it. Merlin cried out, the pain in his shoulder so much worse than the night before. Arthur's shocked face swam before him.

The next time he was fully aware, he was seated inside Arthur's tent, Arthur on one knee before him. Gwaine's warm hand was on his injured shoulder, holding him still.

"Fetch Gaius," Arthur said quietly, and Elyan ran to obey. Arthur yanked off his glove and touched Merlin's face gently, pulling a sigh from him. This entire mess was what he had hoped to avoid. Now there wouldn't be any way to avoid the truth, and the truth would mean disgrace for one of the nobles in training, and bad feelings, and political repercussions, and additional difficulties for Arthur, which wasn't good for a new king, and -- 

"Merlin, I want you tell me who did this." It was Arthur's command voice, the one no one disobeyed, not even Merlin. Merlin swallowed hard, and met Arthur's eyes. 

"It was one of the men in training."

"Which one?"

"I don't know," Merlin said. It was an honest answer. He'd barely had a glimpse of the man's face, and it had been dark.

"Come," Arthur said. He gestured to Percival and Gwaine, and between them, they got Merlin on his feet. Once he was up, he found the ground steady enough and nodded to them, though Gwaine didn't budge. Slowly, Gwaine steadied him as he went to the tent's opening. "Have a look, and tell me if you see him on the field." 

Merlin blinked a few times, clearing the strange haze, and then examined each of the many newcomers in their turn. None seemed familiar, until finally he caught sight of the small group of three men hovering near the stone wall of the castle. Dark curly hair, thin lips -- it was him. 

"He's there," Merlin said, pointing at the culprit. "But really, Arthur, it wasn't--"

"Don't," Arthur said, and there was such restrained anger in his voice, Merlin stopped talking immediately. 

Silence fell, and then Merlin said, as if compelled, "He caught me off guard, you know. It just wasn't a fair fight."

Leon snorted, and someone else choked off a laugh. Arthur, however, only turned to look at him, his expression very hard to decipher. Might have been even if Merlin's brains weren't scrambled. 

"That's an excellent point," Arthur said, his face taking on that calculated expression Merlin had come to dread. "Let's see if we can impress that point on Lord Eifan." He gestured to Leon. "Help me with my mail."

"Sire, I can--" Merlin began. 

"No, you cannot," Arthur said, in an altogether gentler tone than he'd been using, as Leon lowered the mail over his head and adjusted it at the arms. "I'll need you on the field in a few minutes, and then you will go with Gaius for the time being." 

Merlin nodded, defeated. Arthur patted his shoulder, picked up his sword, and charged out onto the training field. 

"This should be good," Percival said to Gwaine, who just shook his head. 

"Let's get out there, then."

They helped Merlin to one of the benches lining the practice field, and Merlin hissed as bright sunlight assaulted his eyes. He lifted a hand to shield them so he could see better as Gwaine sat on his right side, Percival standing to his left. 

"Merlin?" Gaius hurried up to him, and Merlin turned his face toward his mentor, lips pursed. 

"Gaius, they shouldn't have brought you. I'm all right." 

"Perhaps, but let me take a look anyway." Gaius's fingers were gentle as could be, but it still felt like he was attempting to crack open Merlin's skull with a dull stick. When the fingers moved on to his shoulder, it was all Merlin could do not to cry out; if Arthur heard him, bad things were going to befall Lord Eifan, and Merlin wouldn't be responsible for that.

"It's a minor sprain. With proper care and rest, it will be fully healed in no time. As for this," Gaius said, touching his forehead, "it's lucky you have a hard head."

"So my mother told me many times." Merlin smiled, and Gaius smiled back. 

"Lord Eifan," Arthur was saying loudly, pointing at the ground a few feet ahead of him with the tip of his sword. "I will attack, and you will defend. Are you ready?"

"Ready, sire," the man said, lowering his helmet. 

Without any further warning, Arthur unleashed an attack on Eifan the likes of which Merlin had rarely seen in simple practice. One blow followed another, and then another, one of them nearly cleaving Eifan's shield in two. Cracks appeared all along it, and Eifan's parrying moves were not nearly adequate to defend him against Arthur's furious strikes.

"That's a lesson in the making," Gwaine observed, sounding quite pleased about it.

It took only three more blows before Eifan lost his shield and his balance, and Arthur had him on his back on the frosty ground, sword hovering a hair's breadth from his vulnerable neck. 

"Do you submit?" Arthur asked, the point of his sword drawing blood. 

"I submit, sire," Eifan said, through harsh, panting breaths. 

It was a long, long moment before Arthur withdrew his sword, but he made no effort to extend his hand in a sporting manner to Eifan. A murmur went up from the assembled knights and squires. Arthur sheathed his sword, gestured to Merlin to come forward, and folded his arms.

"Now, Lord Eifan, there is the matter of your mistreatment of a member of my household." 

Real fear sparked in Eifan's eyes. "Sire?"

"My manservant, Merlin," Arthur said, as Merlin drew near, Percival just behind him like a giant leaning post. "You abused your authority over him last night, and you injured him."

"Sire, he barreled into me in the corridor, nearly knocking me down. He was insolent in his lack of manners," Eifan said, shooting Merlin a fleeting look as if truly seeing him for the first time. 

"Yes, well, he does lack manners, that is undoubtedly true. However, it is not your place to correct him. Merlin is a member of the royal household, and he is mine to correct or to indulge, as I see fit."

Merlin gave Arthur a raised eyebrow and sidelong look at that, but Arthur's chin only lifted higher, and he gave no sign he was even aware Merlin was there. 

"I understand, sire, but he is just a servant," Eifan said, real confusion on his face. 

"And there is your mistake. He is not... _just_...a servant," Arthur said softly. "He is a trusted advisor." Leaning closer, he said, in a tone pitched just for Eifan's ears, "The most trusted among all my advisors, in fact." 

"Sire, I meant no offense." 

"Of course not," Arthur agreed. "However, here in Camelot, we are fair to all, and all deserve our courtesy and respect. Knights in particular are expected to conduct themselves in an honorable way. You would do well to remember that." 

"Yes, sire."

"Merlin," Arthur said, and Merlin stepped to his side. "Lord Eifan would like to apologize to you."

"Yes, Merlin, I'm very sorry about all this," Eifan said hurriedly, but Arthur continued speaking as if he had made no sound. 

"However, I think you pointed out that your little altercation outside the armory was not a fair fight, did you not, Merlin?"

"I did," Merlin said firmly, enjoying Eifan's narrowed eyes. 

"Very well then. Two fortnights hence, here on the practice field, you will meet and settle this as men."

Merlin jerked in surprise, which was nothing compared to the shocked noise Eifan made. 

"Sire!" Eifan said. "I am a knight in training! He is...well, he is..."

One corner of Arthur's mouth turned up. "Ah, Lord Eifan. Perhaps I forgot to mention it, but Merlin has been training with sword and staff for years. In fact," he said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I have trained him myself. And you know how exacting my standards can be."

"Sire, I will withdraw and cede your servant the victory, as honor demands," Eifan said immediately.

"Oh, no no no, that would not do!" Arthur made an impatient gesture for Eifan to regain his feet and stepped away, leaving Eifan to struggle up in his armor without aid as the other knights watched him silently. "A wrong must be righted; every opportunity must be given to the injured party to see justice done." He turned to Merlin, and the gleam in his eye very nearly made Merlin laugh out loud. "Are the terms satisfactory to you, Merlin?"

"Yes, sire," Merlin said, and was rewarded with Arthur's look of quiet pride. 

"Very well, then. I will set the time and terms of combat when the day arrives. In the meantime, Lord Eifan, you will conduct yourself appropriately, and you will train by yourself, once the rest of the men in training have finished for the day. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sire." Eifan bowed, giving Merlin a murderous look, and limped away. 

"I think he means to take my head off with his bare hands," Merlin said, watching him go.

"He already tried," Arthur said, one gloved hand brushing through Merlin's hair just above the goose egg on his head. "Go and be seen to."

"Arthur," Merlin said, "I'm really no match for him, even with his dreadful level of skill." 

Arthur smiled, and it was the kind of smile that should inspire fear in the hearts of all enemies of Camelot. "Oh, Merlin. Rest assured, when I'm through with you, you will be." 

**

It took a week for Merlin's swollen shoulder to stop hurting, and in the meantime, Arthur made Merlin report to the practice field every morning to watch the knights in their work. 

"Pay careful attention to this move, Merlin," Arthur would say, and demonstrate it fully for him, before proceeding to trounce whatever knight was crossing the field at that moment. Arthur in motion was a wonder, economy of motion and grace, and when Merlin realized he was having all sorts of inappropriately romantic thoughts about the way his king moved over the practice field, he pinched his own shoulder in punishment. It was a ridiculous notion, that Arthur was grace and beauty and whatnot, and Merlin was firmly against encouraging his own train of thought. 

That didn't stop him from looking, though. After all, he was supposed to be watching, and for once, he had no duties to interfere with the pure pleasure of observing Arthur's form. No mail to carry or polish ("Put that down!" Arthur had shouted the first time he'd tried), no armor to pick up from where it was unceremoniously dropped ("Don't make me tie you to that stool," Arthur warned, glowering at him), and no fetching and carrying for the knights, who were too busy trying to outdo one another in their demonstrations. 

He looked, and looked, and looked, until his eyes were filled with the glorious sight of Arthur being handsome, and when he was pink-cheeked from it, and smiling, only then did he look away. 

"So, Merlin," Arthur asked him on the seventh night, as Merlin cautiously drew down the sheets of Arthur's bed. "Do you think you're starting to grasp fighting form?"

"Probably not." Merlin fluffed a pillow with one hand, then smacked it into place. "But Gaius says I can begin practicing tomorrow." 

"Well, that's good news." Arthur's pen was scratching along, writing a dreadful speech Merlin would just have to rewrite for him once Arthur presented it with a flourish. "See the armorer in the morning; he will have a suit of mail for you." 

Merlin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that any man who intends to fight a trained knight must have a tailored suit of chain mail, and yours is waiting for you." The pen made a particularly loud squeak as Arthur punished the parchment with it. 

"That's...generous."

"Don't be ridiculous. Do you know how much wasted time there's been this week while you've been lollygagging about, pampering that shoulder? Best that you get busy tomorrow straightaway."

"Right," Merlin said, a slow smile creeping over his face. Just then, Arthur looked up with an expression of particular impatience. 

"Out," he said. "Dawn comes early. Always has."

"Not like you'd know it," Merlin retorted, and turned tail before something expensive could fly off Arthur's desk in his direction. 

**

On the first day of training, Merlin lost consciousness twice, though to be fair, only one occasion was his fault. 

"This way, Merlin," Percival said, pointing out the flaws in his stance. 

Merlin was looking down, not up, when Arthur said, "Again!" and Percival let fly with a blow Merlin could easily have caught with his shield. 

If it had been up. Along with his eyes.

He blinked his eyes open to see Arthur and Percival hovering. It was not much different from any of the hundred times Arthur had knocked him out during practice; it was just much more humiliating when he was actually supposed to be defending himself. 

"That didn't go very well, did it?" Arthur said, with infinite pity. He hauled Merlin to his feet, patted him on the top of his helmet, and shoved him toward Percival. "Keep your eyes off your feet and you'll have better luck staying on them." 

"Thanks so much," Merlin said, scowling. Not that his expression was visible, but it made him feel better anyway. 

The banging and clanging against all parts of Merlin's armor, sword and shield went on most of the day, until Merlin had a dreadful headache. By the end of the day, the repetition, and the patient help Elyan and Leon provided, had begun to cause his arm to move of its own accord in response to every blow, and he allowed himself a brief moment of pride when he struck through Leon's defenses and hit his shield.

Unfortunately, he forgot to put his arm up, and Leon's counterattack set his ears ringing again in a most unpleasant way -- at least, once he was conscious to appreciate the noise. 

This time, Arthur crouched beside him, and his helmet was already off by the time he came 'round. "Merlin," Arthur said quietly, "that's enough for today."

Privately, Merlin thought it had been enough for the day hours ago, but that was not something he dared say to Arthur. Not when he had that frightening look of concern on his face. Merlin grunted and sat up, and found he didn't have enough strength left in his overworked arms to push himself off the ground. Fortunately, Percival set him on his feet, and Arthur looked him over head to toe. "Yes, definitely done. Back in the morning, bright and early!" Arthur said, and Merlin repressed the violent urge to vomit at his feet. 

"Good lord, Merlin," was all Gaius had to say, when Merlin came shuffling in. Merlin waved a hand at him, crawled up the stairs, and fell asleep on the floor just inside the door. 

At least Gaius threw a blanket over him. Considerate to the end, was Gaius. 

**

The second and third days were not much better. Arthur took it upon himself to spend most of the second day going through step-by-step instruction with Merlin, adjusting his arms this way and that. 

Unfortunately, every inch of Merlin's body was sore, and so every time Arthur touched him, Merlin hissed through his teeth. It was alarming, really, how disconcerted Arthur looked every time it happened. 

"Merlin," Arthur said, after a dozen or so hissing incidents. "Have Gaius give you the liniment he used to give me, when I first started training. It will help."

Merlin could only nod, since at the time he was contorted into a rather unnatural shape, one arm overhead and the other curled up against his chest with a pretend shield hanging from it.

By the time he returned to his room that night, he had forgotten all about the liniment and considered himself fortunate to know his own name. If there was a spot on his body yet unbruised, he reflected sourly that he was sure Arthur would find it and strike him in it, in the morning, just to complete his training experience. 

"Merlin?" Gaius asked again, but Merlin was too busy putting his head down on the table, for fear he would fall into his soup, and he slept there, too tired to move. 

On the third day, he practiced with Gwaine, and mirrored Arthur, who was slowly disassembling Percival's technique. Gwaine forced him to drink water, and generally mollycoddled him until Arthur put his foot down and made Merlin come back to the field. "These techniques take years to learn," Arthur said to Gwaine quite sternly. 

"Yeah, well, you've been inflicting them on him for years, haven't you? If they haven't taken yet, they never will." Gwaine wasn't petting him, exactly, but Merlin was so tired he couldn't really tell the difference. 

"Teach him properly, Gwaine," Arthur said, with a stormy look. "You know damn well that being on the receiving end is not the same as performing a maneuver."

Gwaine's look was infinitely rebellious, but from that point on, he was as hard as Arthur could be on his worst day, which was really saying something.

"Don't," Merlin said, waving a hand at Gaius when he tried to engage Merlin in conversation. There might have been food in front of him, but Merlin was no longer able to taste it, or even find it. His arms were limp at his sides, too sore to even lift, and he reflected bitterly that soon Gaius would be feeding him like a child. 

All things considered, it was going very well.

By the seventh day, Merlin was able to block, parry, and even pursue a limited attack with the broadsword. It was as though his body had become accustomed to the moves, independent of his own judgment about the matter, and everything simply flowed, one move after another. He still could not best the knights, but one after another, they pressed simple attacks and he repelled them, never stumbling, never faltering. 

He would always remember Leon beaming at him with the unabashed pleasure of a teacher who has seen their pupil flourish, but most of all, it was Arthur's approval he took with him. Arthur, who stood by and watched on that day, and who caught Merlin's eye when he dropped his sword, exhausted, just before the noonday meal. 

The unmistakable gleam of pride in Arthur's eye was tinged with the tiniest bit of admiration, and it straightened Merlin's spine, made him want to charge back out and do it all again, just for the smile on Arthur's face.

"Well done," Arthur said, as they walked toward the kitchens, and Merlin paid no mind to the bone-deep aches and pains the week had wrought. Arthur's praise was worth all of it, and more. 

**

The next week passed in an endless haze of training, eating, more training, serving Arthur, and training, until Merlin lost track of the days and hours. He knew he was improving, because Leon told him so in no uncertain terms, and Gwaine had stopped encouraging him to accidentally break a limb to avoid further torture on the field. But in truth, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep up, and Merlin despaired of actually finishing out the month in fighting condition.

"A bath tonight, Merlin," Arthur said at the end of the third week as they left the practice field, and Merlin stifled a groan. Endless hours of toting water, of preparing...his stomach sank at the thought of it. 

It was almost as if Arthur could read his mind, because he stopped Merlin with a hand on his chest and said, "Have the lower servants haul the water, do you understand me? You are not to do it. You are to attend me, and nothing more." 

"Yes, sire," Merlin said, both grateful and disturbed. The last thing he wanted was for Arthur to think he was too tired to be capable of doing his duties. Arthur would never let him live it down. Arthur, however, seemed oblivious to this, and it was remotely possible he was just trying to be...kind. 

Merlin tried that thought on, and weighed it, and decided in the end, it was of no matter, as long as he didn't have to climb the steps endlessly with buckets of warm water that would be nearly cold once the tub was filled. 

It took much less time with the help of the other servants, whom Merlin thanked profusely for their assistance, and soon enough, the tub was filled. Merlin waved a weary hand over it while Arthur was behind the changing screen, and ensured the water was at an appropriate temperature for the kingly arse. 

Not that he thought often of the kingly arse, or its comfort. 

Merlin stuck his right hand in the bathwater and closed his eyes as the warmth suffused his sore joints. Every bone in his hand felt out of place, disjointed from the constant jarring. He would never get used to the feel of a sword in his hand for hours on end. 

"All is in readiness, sire," he said, pulling his hand out with regret. "May I retire?"

"You may not," Arthur said from behind the screen. "Pour me some wine." 

Merlin sighed and poured a goblet of wine, then set it on the table and waited, trying his very best not to lean his weight on the table. 

Arthur emerged from behind the screen, but he was not naked for the bath, as per his usual custom. He wore a loose tunic of simple white linen, and the breeches he normally slept in. He sat down at the table and picked up the cup of wine, drinking deeply, before opening the bound volume of treaties Merlin had brought up from the library earlier. Merlin watched in astonishment as he flipped a page, ignoring the bath totally. 

"Sire," Merlin began, outrage making his blood hot. 

"Get in," Arthur said, not looking up from his book. 

Merlin stopped, his mouth still open but the words arrested on his tongue. "What?"

Arthur looked up at him then, frowning in annoyance. "Get in the bath, Merlin, are you deaf?"

"But it's your bath," Merlin said stupidly, staring at him. 

"No, it's your bath, and if you don't get in, I'll throw you in," Arthur said, raking him with a disdainful glance. Merlin was suddenly aware how bedraggled he'd become over the last few weeks, tunics rumpled, hair askew, no neckerchief anywhere to be found. He hadn't had time for more than a quick wash most nights, and some nights he'd fallen asleep before he'd even gone near a wash basin. 

All his spluttered protests died on his lips as he watched Arthur studiously ignoring him. "Go on," Arthur said, turning the page. 

Merlin turned to look at the water, his back to Arthur, and began taking off his clothes one piece at a time. Belt and tunic first, then breeches, then his smalls, and then with a tiny moan of effort, he lifted his legs and climbed into the delicious heat of the tub. Arthur said nothing; every so often, the fluttering sound of paper against paper told Merlin he'd turned another page, and the thunk of the goblet against the wooden table told him Arthur was still drinking his wine. 

With a sigh, Merlin leaned back in the tub and closed his eyes. The warmth was seeping into his bones, down through bruised skin covered with welts and cuts, and he could not have asked for a better gift. The idea that Arthur had done this for him made his heart swell, and he said softly, "Thank you, sire."

Arthur was silent, ignoring him no doubt, and Merlin's lip curled in a smile. He had expected nothing more. 

The heat made Merlin sleepy, and he gave up any attempts at washing himself, instead preferring to drift and doze in the warmth. Some time later, Arthur said quietly, "Wash, Merlin. It's what baths are for." 

Merlin obediently picked up the sharply scented soap Arthur was so fond of and lathered it between his hands, and proceeded to scrub himself all over, blushing as his hands went beneath the water. Even if Arthur wasn't looking, it was still past all the boundaries they had set for each other over the years.

When his bath was done and the water cooling, he smelled of Arthur and his body was relaxed for the first time in nearly a month. Merlin sat up in the tub, and in response, Arthur sat up in his chair, then stood and turned to retrieve a towel. 

"Here," he said, tossing it to Merlin, who stood and wrapped it about himself as he stepped out of the tub. Merlin expected Arthur to retreat then, but he didn't. Instead, he came closer, looking at Merlin's exposed chest, concern written across his features. 

"Hold still," Arthur said, and much to Merlin's chagrin, he began inspecting Merlin, his fingers pressing against every bruise, every scrape, mapping out the damage done during training with a skilled touch. He looked up to meet Merlin's eyes, and said, "You haven't used that liniment I told you to get from Gaius, have you?"

"Forgot," Merlin said truthfully. "I was so tired." 

"Fortunately for you, Merlin, I forget nothing." Arthur pointed toward the bed. "Climb on."

It was something out of Merlin's deepest fantasies, the kind he would never have admitted even if he were about to be burned at the stake, and he curled in on himself. "Sire?"

"Merlin, you are close to dropping from exhaustion, and your body can't go on. I understand this. Now get on the bed." 

"But sire, I won't be able to reach, it's not--"

"That's not a problem," Arthur said. "On the bed. Now." 

Merlin bowed his head and went to the giant, soft, freshly-laundered bed, crawling on it with a mixture of dread and desire. When he was face down, the bed dipped, and he knew it was Arthur, climbing up behind him, over him. 

"I considered having George do this for you, but George has never felt the repeated sting of sword blows on his body," Arthur said. Cool drops of liniment hit Merlin's skin, and he fought not to arch against them as Arthur's hands followed them, his strong fingers digging in to Merlin's spine. "He has never known the aches that follow days upon days of intensive training. He has no idea where to touch, how to soothe that pain."

Arthur's hands seemed able to find every sore, hurt spot on Merlin's back, and Merlin clutched at the pillow, unwilling to give himself away. Arthur leaned closer as his fingers dug deeper, and said in a low tone, "Better?"

"Yes, oh, Arthur," Merlin said, turning his face down into the coverlet, to prevent any other embarrassing words from slipping out. He had never been touched so, with such intent, such care, and it was impossible to control his body's response to it, the arousal born of longing for Arthur.

Merlin carefully stilled his hips; Arthur could not know. He could not _ever_ know. 

"Arms out to your sides," Arthur said, his hands stroking firm down Merlin's sides, then resting on his hips as Merlin spread his arms out on the bed. Arthur shifted to the side and began rubbing down his arms, pulling the strain and soreness out with his touch. A small noise rose in Merlin's throat, and he shoved his face deeper into the burgundy pillows which smelled of sunlight and Arthur. Arthur's hands were wrapped around Merlin's, stretching each finger gently, and it was so wonderful Merlin wished it would never end. 

"You are entirely useless at fighting," Arthur said, his fingertips curling against Merlin's palm and lingering there. 

"Of course," Merlin said, thinking of how he'd surprised Percival earlier in the day, and how funny his expression was when he stumbled after Merlin's quick blow. 

"But you are capable of learning, it appears," Arthur added, his hands gentle on the tense muscles of Merlin's shoulders. "As shocking as that actually is." 

Merlin wanted to answer with some smart retort, but he was too busy melting into Arthur's bed. Arthur went on saying horrible, insulting words about Merlin's prowess, but Merlin could barely hear them anymore, because he was becoming a sleep-addled puddle on the king's bed. 

Just before he fell asleep, he reminded himself that he should get up, that he hadn't been asked to stay, but his brain told him nastily to shut up and sleep. 

If he thought he felt the barest touch of lips to the nape of his neck, it was between him and his imagination, and Arthur need never know. 

Waking an hour later to Arthur shoving him off his bed was an unpleasant shock, but Merlin thought he might be able to endure that, because he felt wonderful -- every muscle, every kink, was smoothed out under the command of Arthur's knowing hands. Arthur stared at him while Merlin collected himself up off the floor, hands on his hips, before shaking his head and climbing right into the bed where Merlin had been, burrowing down into what must be nicely warm sheets. 

"Good night, Merlin," Arthur said, pulling the blankets over his head. 

"Good night," Merlin said, grinning at the lump that was Arthur beneath his covers, as he gathered up his clothes and shoved them on. 

**

The fourth week was a haze of new stances, one after the other. Gwaine was assigned the first day, and he spent the day repositioning Merlin, twisting him into bizarre poses and leveling lethal blows at him once they were achieved. 

"I thought you were my friend," Merlin gasped, barely able to counter the massive strength behind Gwaine's blows. 

"I am," Gwaine said, grinning at him from behind his raised sword. "Or I wouldn't bother to show you where you've gone wrong." 

Leon spent the second day correcting his form, endless minute adjustments of his feet and hands and elbows until Merlin felt like screaming. 

"You show great promise, Merlin," Leon said, apologetic as he shoved Merlin's arms down toward his sides. 

"Yes, it's a shame I didn't become a knight," Merlin said through gritted teeth, poking his sword toward Leon as if jabbing a finger toward him. 

Elyan worked with him on economy of movement, and finally Percival spent time with him sharpening up his brute strength. 

"You'll end it fast enough with this," Percy said, grinning as he showed Merlin how to land a blow to the ribs which would leave any man gasping. 

"If I had an extra year to grow muscles, yeah, sure," Merlin wheezed, clutching his sides. 

He sparred with Gwaine in their downtime, swords clashing merrily like two children sparring with sticks in a barn, and looked up to see Arthur watching. It was not like before, a glance of simple, unrestrained pride. This time, the look on Arthur's face took Merlin's breath away; the naked regard for him, the appreciation of Merlin's budding skill, as Arthur's gaze traveled him head to toe. Merlin shivered, understanding that it was not so different to how he had looked at Arthur all these years, the way he'd memorized the curve of his shoulder as he struck, the fierceness in his eyes when he knew he had a match nearly won.

The idea that Arthur saw this in him, that he wanted him for what Merlin could do, thrilled him to the core. How might Arthur feel, if he knew Merlin could raze cities with a word, that he could burn their enemies with only a passing glance?

He looked to Arthur, and saw a smoldering heat in his eyes, and wondered. 

**

The end of the second fortnight arrived before Merlin could even have a moment to dread its approach. If Arthur was considering the combat to come, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he called a dinner for selected knights -- in fact, all the knights who had helped Merlin train. 

"You will serve, of course," Arthur said to Merlin, as Merlin drooped a bit under his chain mail at the very end of training. "Make sure there's capon. And cheese. And apples." 

"Of course," Merlin said, giving Arthur his best cheery smile. Arthur narrowed his eyes, and Merlin's smile widened, the word 'pillock' trapped neatly behind his gritted teeth.

The dinner smelled delicious, and Merlin was more or less awake at the start of it. At least running around the table pouring wine for the knights kept him busy. 

"Merlin," Arthur said impatiently, wagging his empty goblet. "Whatever is keeping you tonight? It's as if you had weights on your ankles." 

"Can't imagine why I'd be slow," Merlin muttered, slopping extra wine into Arthur's goblet. "What with all the bashing and hitting and falling."

"Surely there's someone else who could serve," Arthur said loudly, and as if the very walls of the castle were attuned to the king's needs, the door burst open and George walked in, his nose turned so high in the air Merlin feared for his balance. He gave Merlin a disdainful look and snatched the pitcher from his hands. 

"Seeing as how you're so slow, Merlin, you may as well sit down and eat, and let someone infinitely more competent handle our service." 

"Yes, Merlin, sit," Gwaine said, patting the arm of the chair next to him. For the first time, Merlin realized there was an empty chair at the table, to Arthur's right. He stared, as the knights chuckled, then gave Arthur an incredulous look. 

Arthur seemed as though he couldn't decide whether to be amused, or imperious, but the smile breaking on his face made the decision for him, and soon all the knights were laughing. Gwaine reached out to tug Merlin down into the chair, and George poured him a goblet of wine, squinting at Merlin with vast wells of disapproval. 

Across the table, Elyan smiled warmly at him and raised his goblet in a toast, and Merlin blinked, groping for his own goblet. It was strange, sitting at the table with them all as equals, and yet none of them seemed to mind. 

"Let us discuss the challenge," Arthur said. "Merlin, there's no question you're as ready as you're going to be. This morning, I sent word to Lord Eifan that you're to meet at dawn on the practice field, and there you will engage in combat with the broadsword until one of you is felled."

"Felled?" Merlin said, choking a bit on the piece of bread he'd just stuffed into his mouth.

Arthur made a disdainful noise. "Don't be so melodramatic. It's only a term."

"Just as if you were practicing with us," Percival said. "If the blow to be struck would be a killing blow, then the match is won, and the man on the ground has lost."

"Ah," Merlin said, gulping his wine. He didn't really think Eifan would actually kill him, because Arthur would get up and cut off Eifan's head for daring -- of that, Merlin was entirely sure. But still, he'd dropped his sword three or four times that day, and it didn't bode well for not being felled. 

"So, Merlin," Gwaine said, sitting forward, a bit of capon grease on his nose. "Tell me, if you do manage to land a blow on that snotty wisp of a lord, what do you suppose he'll sound like?"

"I think he'll squeak like a mouse if Merlin's sword comes anywhere near him," Percival said, grinning widely. "Did you hear him yesterday, practicing with Calvin?"

"You mean all that peeping was Eifan and not Calvin?" Leon said, eyebrows lifted with what Merlin could only assume was astonishment. He felt much the same. Calvin was a bit young yet to advance toward knighthood. Then again, he was only a few years younger than Merlin, so perhaps his perspective was skewed. There were times Merlin felt like he'd already been through a thousand wars, and had seen so much more of life than most anyone else his age. 

"Bit disturbing, wasn't it?" Percival said, reaching for some bread. 

"I'll say." Gwaine had another bite of capon and wagged the strip of meat at Merlin. "At least you have proven to be quiet in the throes of defeat. Make sure you keep that up." 

"I'll do my best," Merlin said. The food on the table in front of him was doing unpleasant things to his insides. The wine, however, looked smashing. He was reaching for more when Arthur whisked the cup from his hands. 

"Enough of that," Arthur said. "I'll have you clear-headed tomorrow. You can't afford any more blows to that brain of yours, or it will start leaking out your ears."

Merlin readied a token protest, but when he turned to deliver it, he was met by that same level gaze from Arthur, steady and fond and quiet, and Merlin gave himself a moment to sink into it. Arthur took a sip from Merlin's cup, slowly, his eyes never leaving Merlin's, and then set it down. 

"Merlin!" Gwaine said, right next to his ear, making him jump. The moment lost, he turned to Gwaine, who ruffled his hair and said, "Let's hope you're not this easily distracted tomorrow, or I fear for these ears!"

"He'll have the helm and mail on tomorrow, at the very least," Elyan said. "It'll keep most of his important parts intact." 

That set them all to laughing, and Merlin basked in it, in the good-natured teasing and the pride they held in him. 

All the while, Arthur watched him, and Merlin began to burn for the palpable touch of his stare.

**

The meal lasted well into the night, and after a round of goodbyes and well-wishes, Merlin followed Arthur back to his chambers. It was as any other evening, candles lit about the room, and Merlin helped Arthur out of his over clothes, handing him a tunic and breeches to sleep in before he moved on to turn down the bed. He kept his eyes down all the while, and Arthur was quiet, going about his evening business. No jokes, no demands for wine, or that Merlin stoke up the fire in the chilly room. Nothing but the sounds of cloth rustling and sheets being pulled back.

When Merlin finished, Arthur was leaning against the desk, a study in stillness. "Put out the candles, Merlin," he said, and Merlin moved round the room to do so, snuffing them one by one in a half-circle that took him right to Arthur's side. 

When the last was extinguished, he turned back to Arthur, and said softly, "Is there anything else you require, sire?"

"One thing," Arthur said, a soft smile crossing his face. In the firelight, shadows flickered across his face, and he was half-golden, half-dark, a creature utterly strange and unfamiliar to Merlin. 

When Arthur lifted a hand to touch Merlin's face, when he ran his thumb across Merlin's lips and followed that touch with the press of his own lips, unhurried and certain, Merlin found him not so unfamiliar after all. 

It took but a moment for him to yield to Arthur, and Arthur deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up and into Merlin's hair, the same strong fingers that had shaped Merlin into the semblance of a warrior over the weeks and days. Arthur had made of him on the outside what Merlin had always been inside, and now it was visible for all to see. 

In the process, something had shifted in him, and in Arthur. They were not equals, but Merlin was no longer simply a servant. Arthur had given him power to fight, to resist. Now Arthur's hands on his body, Arthur taking his mouth with fierce intent, these things seemed possible in ways they had never been before. 

Merlin sought Arthur's mouth, pressing for kisses, and dared to settle his hands at Arthur's hips when Arthur smiled into their kiss. 

After long minutes, Arthur broke away, pressing his forehead to Merlin's. "You must go," he said, lifting his eyes to Merlin's, a flicker of amusement there when Merlin groaned. "The one thing I most want to deny you at this moment is sleep, and that is the one thing you must not do without." 

"Gaius will have to knock me over the head with something heavy," Merlin said, frowning at him in what he hoped was a very adorable way. 

"I'm tempted to follow you back and volunteer," Arthur said. They both grinned, Merlin because he was certain it was completely untrue, and because the sight of Arthur smiling at him in such a way forced smiles from Merlin like light from the summer sky. He took hold of Merlin's arms and pushed him firmly toward the door. "I will see you tomorrow morning on the practice field."

Merlin nodded, his heart in his throat at the way Arthur was looking at him, looking everywhere at him. "And after?"

"After, there will be the matter of your prize," Arthur said, leaning nonchalantly against the bedpost, his arms crossed over his chest. "Perhaps we can discuss that further. If you win, of course."

"Of course," Merlin said, raising a brow. 

He expected Arthur to smirk, but Arthur only smiled again, and said, "Good night, Merlin." 

"Sire," Merlin said, his lip curling in an answering smile.

Gaius had nothing heavy enough for Merlin to drop on his own head without risking a another lump, and so Merlin spent the wee hours of the night awake, thinking of Arthur's hands, of the way they looked as he handled his sword, at the way he executed all the moves Merlin would need to remember the next morning. 

It was a long, messy night. 

**

In the early morning, Merlin sat at Gaius's worktable and stared at the worn wood grain as Gaius puttered around making something or other. "I'll have to fight fairly," Merlin said, spooning up some porridge. "No magic."

"Very true," Gaius said, pouring a foul-smelling green substance into a vial with an equally disgusting purple one. Vapor steamed out of the viscous experiment. "You won't be able to risk even the smallest spell, since all Arthur's knights are sure to be there."

"All of them?" Merlin said, looking up in alarm. 

"Well, yes, Merlin. Your progress under the knights' tutelage has been the talk of the castle. They're very impressed with you." Gaius shook the vial, holding it at arm's length as it bubbled ominously. "I have heard it said that there are bets on your odds of winning. At the very least, Sir Gwaine believes you will best Lord Eifan, which has fueled the talk in the taverns and the lower town. Had you not heard?"

"No," Merlin said, snorting at the very idea of it. But in his deepest heart, he was pleased that Gwaine had such faith in him. Even so, it might be easier if he were still just the incompetent servant Arthur had given chain mail to; it was strange to have others think of him as something more. 

"Well, then," Gaius said. He wiped his hands on his robes and turned to Merlin expectantly. "Best put it out of your mind and get dressed. You have a match to attend to." 

"So I do," Merlin said. He put the spoon back down in the porridge, his appetite having shrunk back into the depths of his stomach. 

An hour later, he pushed back the flap of Arthur's tent and found Calvin waiting there for him. "Sir Percival says I'm to squire for you today," he said with a smile, readying Merlin's mail. 

"That won't be necessary." 

As one, Merlin and Calvin turned to see Arthur there, already in battle dress, holding up the tent flap. "You may go, Calvin, and thank you."

"Sire," Calvin said, giving Merlin a pleased look, before scurrying away. 

"Well, that was brilliant," Merlin said, giving the various implements of tournament a displeased once-over. 

"While it is true that you can barely dress me, much less yourself, fortunately you have my assistance today." Arthur pulled off first one glove, then the other, and threw them on the table. "Let's get going, then." 

"Sire, it is not appropriate for you to dress your servant," Merlin said, grabbing the gambeson out of Arthur's hands and shrugging it on. 

"Oh, of course, and you are always so concerned about propriety," Arthur said, giving him a knowing look which caused Merlin to blush straight down to his toes. Arthur batted Merlin's hands away and tied the gambeson at his throat and chest, and then began helping him on with the rest of the mail and armor rather efficiently -- so much so that Merlin marveled Arthur had managed to appear so dependent upon being dressed for so many years. 

"You'd have made an excellent squire," Merlin said, unable to help himself. 

"I did," Arthur said, adjusting Merlin's hauberk with a yank that nearly threw Merlin to his knees. "I was at my father's side when I was yet too young to fight. I dressed him a hundred times or more." 

The idea of Arthur as a wee squire, standing on tiptoe to throw mail over Uther's head, provoked a strangled laugh from Merlin, and yet another vicious yank on the armor from Arthur. "All done," he said, which sobered Merlin up instantly. 

Arthur slipped his gauntlets on one at a time, fastening them, and Merlin was instantly reminded of a moment in Ealdor when Merlin had been tempted to share all his secrets with Arthur. It had not been the right time, then, but now as Merlin looked at Arthur's ridiculously shiny hair in front of his nose, Arthur's head bent to his task, he thought he might begin to see the right time approaching. 

Arthur clapped him on the shoulders, every inch the king, and shoved his helmet at him. "Remember your lessons, Merlin. Keep your sword and eyes up, your shoulders down, and no matter what you do, don't get your head cut off." Arthur curved his ungloved fingers around Merlin's throat, and said under his breath, "I have plans for it." 

"It is so unfair of you to distract me this way just before combat," Merlin said, amazed at his own boldness, even as he swallowed hard against the pressure of Arthur's fingers. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Why not? You've been doing it to me for years." He stepped aside and gave Merlin a shove. "Out you go, then." 

Merlin took a moment to center himself, and stepped out of the tent with Arthur close behind him. The moment he rounded the corner toward the field, he stopped dead, so fast that Arthur almost crashed into him. Gaius hadn't exaggerated; easily three quarters of the knights and squires, and most of the rest of the castle's staff and servants, were standing around the edges of the field, making it look for all the world as though it was some important tournament with visiting champions.

Instead, it was just Merlin, whose sword arm was questionably bruised and who had suffered a lack of sleep the night before, thinking about metaphors having to do with swords and penetration. 

"They are here because they want to see you succeed," Arthur said in his ear. "As do I." He stepped around Merlin and strode forward onto the field, and the noisy chatter quieted immediately as he approached center. 

"Lord Eifan, come forward. Merlin, come forward." 

Merlin made his legs cooperate as ahead of him, Eifan strode onto the field, looking every inch the pompous ass he had been the first time Merlin saw him. Merlin looked him over, and thought about how easy it would be to knock him over with one well-aimed spell. It was gratifying to realize he didn't need the spell, this time; he had been given the means to do it the old-fashioned way. 

Eifan gave Merlin a disdainful look, clearly having recovered his sense of entitlement after Arthur knocked it out of him temporarily. Merlin gave him a wide smile, which seemed to unsettle him. He looked away and to the king, giving Merlin a sideways scowl. 

"Gentlemen. You have agreed to knights' rules for this combat, with one exception: this will not be a fight to the death. If either of you disobey this rule, you will be immediately put to death on the field of honor, by my sword. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sire," both Eifan and Merlin said, though Merlin would swear Eifan had gone three shades paler. So he had planned to "accidentally" strike Merlin down, then. At least that plan was set aside, provided Merlin didn't trip and impale himself on Eifan's sword. 

"You will fight until one of you is felled. I will then declare the victor. To your places." 

Merlin bowed to Arthur, noting that Eifan did so belatedly, and then stepped away from the king. He maneuvered his helmet on awkwardly, hating the sensation of his own breath echoing in his ears. It was warm and clammy and stale in there, and Merlin was never quite sure that all the blood was out of those things; it seemed to him that there were souvenirs lurking in the cracks and corners of the metal. He fervently hoped his own blood wouldn't join them. 

Through the eye slit, he saw Eifan throw his helmet on and assume his stance. 

"Begin," Arthur shouted. 

Eifan wasted no time; he pressed his attack immediately with two quick overhead blows. Merlin parried them easily, though the impact was as great as the blows Gwaine had begun to deal forth on their last days of training. His entire arm shook with the force of them, and pain ricocheted through his bones. Eifan followed with two forward strikes, which Merlin dodged neatly, though he was disoriented when Eifan moved out of his field of vision. He turned his body as he'd been taught and found Eifan directly in front of him, so he thrust his sword and made contact with his chest mail. He was rewarded with an indignant grunt from Eifan and a cheer from the assembled crowd. 

Merlin backed away, then thought better of it and pressed forward again, two strikes aimed for Eifan's helm. Eifan blocked both, then struck Merlin's sword with enough force to throw Merlin sideways. His blade connected with Merlin's right arm, and not the flat of it -- the sharp of it, though Merlin did not feel the sting. He rounded on Eifan and struck back, making a clean blow to his shield. 

Merlin's legs were beginning to shake, and his shoulders ached terribly. Sweat trickled down into his eyes, but he continued on, blocking the many blows Eifan rained down on him. When an opening occurred, he moved quickly, landing a neat strike. On the fifth or sixth such strike, Eifan dropped his guard, and Merlin employed one of Percival's favorite moves -- a strike to the side, followed by a blow to the helm. (Merlin would have liked to say it was a ringing blow, but it was more of a glancing one.) 

Eifan stumbled, and his shield arm dropped completely. Merlin wasted no time in striking him twice in the chest, and suddenly Eifan disappeared from his line of sight. Confused, Merlin tilted his head from side to side, seeking his opponent, and then looked down to see Eifan sprawled on the ground. 

"Finish it!" came Gwaine's roar from somewhere nearby. Merlin heaved in a breath and kicked Eifan's shield away, then knocked at the sword Eifan was poking up in the air at him. Joy sang in his blood as the sword went flying, and Merlin touched the tip of his own sword to the mail over Eifan's heart. 

Eifan's fist pounded at the dust, twice, just before Arthur's voice rang out clear in the silence. "The match is ended. Merlin is the victor." 

Against the backdrop of a roar the likes of which Merlin had only ever heard for Arthur, Merlin lifted his head and saw his king beside him, nothing but love and approval in his eyes. 

The sight of it warmed Merlin through, and so he was smiling when he fainted. 

**

Merlin woke to a great commotion, shouting and excited voices, and someone being grim and stern nearby. That was probably Arthur. Then all the voices receded, and there was the soft crackle of a fire, and only Arthur was speaking. 

"Open your eyes, Merlin, you great idiot." 

Merlin did as he was commanded, and tried to sit up without even stopping to survey where he was. Immediately a shooting pain in his neck stopped him, and his head thudded back down into something incredibly soft. 

"Arthur?" he said, twisting his head until he located the king standing beside the bed. It dawned on him suddenly that he was on a very plump bed, and it was definitely not the bed in his own tiny room in Gaius's chambers. 

"I've had you brought to the quarters my servant is supposed to occupy. That is, if I had a proper servant, which I certainly have not had since you first darkened my door." Arthur sat down on the edge of the bed and smoothed a hand over Merlin's forehead. "You capped off your glorious victory by fainting dead away on the practice field." 

Merlin groaned and clapped a hand to his face. 

Arthur chuckled. "Greater warriors than you have done it. I recall a time when Elyan pitched forward onto his face after a brutal session with Percival. Let's just say when he arose, he had learned to choose the patch of grass on which he trains more carefully."

With a wrinkled nose, Merlin said, "I didn't fall in any manure, did I?"

"Mercifully, no." Arthur pushed up Merlin's sleeve and examined his left arm, then repeated his examination with the right. Merlin didn't look down at the bruises he knew were forming there, for fear he'd start experiencing pains based only on the knowledge of their ugliness. "Gaius says you are fine, just exhausted and worn from the training. A little sleep will put you to rights." 

"There is the matter of my prize," Merlin said, as Arthur's hand swept up his bare right arm, warming it. 

"It will keep." 

"Says you," Merlin said hotly, making as if to lift a hand to drag Arthur down closer, where he could have his way with him. Unfortunately, his arm completely refused to cooperate, and Arthur laughed outright as it flopped across his leg, useless. 

"Good thing that didn't happen on the field today, or I'd be even more embarrassed to claim you than I already am." 

"I really bested him," Merlin said, aware that the glow of pride in his chest was completely disproportionate to what had actually happened out there. Even so, he saw his own happiness reflected in Arthur's eyes. 

"You did," Arthur said. "And you've proved that my training methods are indeed the very best in all the five kingdoms." 

"You are so self-centered," Merlin said, his flopped-over hand slowly sliding up Arthur's thigh. 

"Of that, there is no doubt," Arthur said. He caught Merlin's fingers with one hand and curled his own around them, and in the next moment, he was kissing Merlin, his tongue touching gently against Merlin's in ways that made Merlin shiver with anticipation.

"I feel fine," Merlin said, when Arthur pulled back. 

"Well, the rest of us are bone-tired," Arthur said. "Do you have any idea how much work it was, training you, keeping you from decapitating yourself? I believe Leon actually dulled your sword each night, in the fervent hope you would survive until the actual contest." 

Merlin rolled his eyes, and then hissed. Even that hurt. 

Arthur's hand smoothed over his brow again, and when Arthur pressed another, briefer kiss to Merlin's lips, this time Merlin sighed into it. "Rest," Arthur said. "Tomorrow, we will...negotiate your duties."

"Naturally," Merlin said, the ghost of a smile crossing his face as he closed his eyes. Arthur's warm weight stayed at his side, all the way into sleep.

**

Merlin slept through lunch, through dinner, and well into the night. In the morning, there were no fond kisses, no heated gazes from Arthur. Instead he was greeted by the horrifying sight of George hovering over his bedside, glowering at him as if he'd committed some treasonable offense by sleeping past dawn.

"You must get up," George said. "You have an appointment with the royal tailor. Up!"

"Why are you harassing me instead of the king?" Merlin asked, pulling the blanket up by degrees to shield him from George's withering gaze. 

"By order of the king, you are to be given every privilege until you have recovered from your strenuous bout with Lord Eifan." George produced a plate of grapes and cheese from somewhere -- thin air? Behind his back? -- and handed it to Merlin. "Eat, and I will dress you." 

"Oh, no you won't," Merlin muttered, popping a grape into his mouth. His muscles screamed in protest as he flung back the covers and hopped out of bed on the side opposite George, but it had to be done.

"Merlin!" George said, in a tone that indicated he was about to pin Merlin down to dress him. 

Merlin flung out a hand in warning. "Just hand me my clothes!" he said, a little desperately. 

George eyed him sadly, but complied. Merlin threw them on, forsaking the neckerchief and one sock in service to getting away from George as quickly as possible, and practically ran into the corridor.

When he burst into the royal tailor's rooms, he stopped dead at the sight of Arthur there, being fitted for new ceremonial garb. "Ah, Merlin," Arthur said, arms in the air. His sword and belt lay on the table, and he stood there only in his tunic and small clothes while the tailor gawked at Merlin's rudeness. "Take off your clothes and let the tailor measure you." 

"I...what?" Merlin said, distracted by the sight of Arthur's knees.

Arthur took a hard look at his face and turned to the tailor. "Would you excuse us, for a moment?"

"As you wish, sire," the tailor said, bowing to Arthur before he exited the room.

Arthur hopped off the box he was standing on and began poking at the cloth laid out on the worktable. "Late as usual, I see. Even George couldn't get you here on time, could he? That's remarkable. In any case, we must see to getting you something suitable to wear." 

Merlin's chest was tight. "Arthur, no. I have to draw a line somewhere. Besides, what's wrong with what I wear?"

"Nothing whatsoever," Arthur said absently, flipping through bolts of cloth with the impatience of someone who has never had to choose a color or fabric a day in his life. He glanced up at Merlin then, absorbing the full brunt of Merlin's consternation, and huffed, "Really, Merlin, do you think I care one whit about your clothing? Your manner of dress is and always has been better suited to a farmer in the field than to a king's manservant." 

"Well, what is this, then?"

Arthur sighed. "I won't have anyone making the mistake Lord Eifan made about you again," he said, then met Merlin's eyes, something serious and quiet about his expression. "I won't allow anyone to accord you less than the respect you are due. You are valuable to me, Merlin. I will have the world know it." 

The blush that heated Merlin's face spread quickly down his neck, across his chest, burning so hot he was surprised his totally unsuitable clothing didn't turn to ash and fly away. Still, Arthur held his gaze. 

Merlin cleared his throat and picked up Arthur's sword and sheath, discarded on a table during the fittings. "Perhaps I should order one of these to place in a fancy sheath at the waist of my fancy clothes," he said, giving Arthur a wink. "I do seem to have a knack for it." He turned his wrist and performed Arthur's favorite showy trick with the sword, spinning it into position in his hand. 

In a flash, Arthur had his wrist and his arm and had easily disarmed him. Merlin gave a startled huff, and a moment later, Arthur pinned him easily against the tall cabinet, as spools of thread and bits of lace tumbled down around their ears. "You didn't think I'd teach you all my best tricks, now did you?" he murmured, pressing kisses to Merlin's neck, to the hollow of his throat, to the corner of his mouth. 

"Arthur," Merlin said, desperate and joyful and hopeful, and Arthur answered by kissing him until his intentions were quite clear. 

The sword clattered to the ground, utterly forgotten. There in the tailor's closet, among soft piles of blue and red fabric, Arthur took Merlin for the first time.

"You will leave the swordplay to me from now on," Arthur told him in low, growling tones as he moved deep inside Merlin, and Merlin was far too busy evaluating Arthur's prowess with his sword to disagree. 

After all, he was an expert in such matters now. 

~end~


End file.
